HD 'Fridays'
by tigersilver
Summary: This was written specifically to be slotted anywhere and anywhen into the Potterverse-assume they're the age of consent, though-and it is pure, unadulterated PWP. Happy Happy Hour, fellow shippers, from Tiger


HD Fridays

"Bend over and grab your ankles, Potter," Malfoy ordered. "You're damned late, you know!"

He touched the tip of his wand to Potter's pert arse and the perpetually belated prat's trousers were Vanished into the ether. Did a little lube spell whilst he was at it, too, as he was bit miffed, really, at being kept waiting.

"Hey!" Potter squealed, when Malfoy grabbed his hips, hard enough to bruise. "Watch it! Not my fault I was late—"

"It's always your fault, Potter, so no friggin' excuses," Malfoy snapped back impatiently, positioning himself up against Potter's hole. "Shite!" he muttered immediately after. "I'm going to have to use a Charm, Potter—hope you don't mind," he added, and went ahead with it anyway.

"Sheesh! Malfoy!" Potter's voice was thick, probably with the blood rushing to his head. To his credit, he hadn't moved an inch whilst he waited for Malfoy to enter him. "You're the arsehole! I was on my way, I swear, but then—"

"Potter, just shut it," Malfoy demanded. "We don't have time, alright? Now, you ready for this?"

"Of course I'm ready, Malfoy." Potter shot back. "I'm ready for anything you throw at me."

"Good, because I'm fucking dying here. If I don't blow this load, I'll expire," Malfoy replied. "And you're just the arsehole I've been thinking should take it."

So saying, he drove in, with the ease of experience, ignoring Potter's faint 'Oof!' and seating himself snug up against the nub of pleasure inside him.

"Ah! Ah, shite, Malfoy!" Potter moaned and finally wriggled, the smooth flesh of his hips slipping in Malfoy's sweaty palms. "Ready!"

"Hold still then," Malfoy replied, grimly. "This is going to be fast. We don't have time for much more."

He began his usual: a long slow withdrawal, following by a jabbingly sharp sweep forward, jamming Potter's hips into his chest and nearly sandwiching him with every stroke. Potter snorted on the first one, and then settled into a steady, pleased grunting, almost a hum, which went straight to Malfoy's brain and hardwired him into a frenzy. The pace increased—in, out, _breath_, moan, in, out, _gasp_, groan—and he and Potter were going at it almost mechanically, with the smooth, oiled efficiency of a shagging machine.

"Nh!"

Potter started with those needy little nasal noises that always told Malfoy he was coming closer and closer to losing it. Straining, Malfoy reached a hand 'round and shoved it between the flex of muscle and hot skin, where Potter's flat stomach met the shivering fronts of his stretching thighs, and made a successful grab for Potter's dick. It was hot as Fiendfyre and heavy as melting lead in his hand, and he dragged his fingers down it in a fluting motion that had Potter's low grunting hum go abruptly high-pitched.

"Mmph! Mal!" Potter was struggling to speak, and Malfoy jacked up the pace, stoking and stroking Potter two contrary ways, inside and out. He tilted his own heavy head back, inhaling sharply as Potter's innards tightened and released rhythmically about his driving cock, and then simply left his mouth hang open as it gathered: cum, a boiling saline gout of it, ready to spill into Potter's droolworthy arse and then overflow it, till Potter would be sticky-slippery inside and out with the essence of Malfoy.

The very thought almost forced his ejaculation.

"Potter!"

It was always surprised, that exclamation, as if Malfoy couldn't quite believe whom he was actually fucking. Potter moaned, and Malfoy would've known that particular sound anywhere, and it impelled him to let go of the pressure building up his super-swollen balls, his gut and his aching, yearning core, with a gusty, wordless noise that might've also been 'Potter!'

Might've been some other word, as well, but who was even listening?

"Grah! Anngh!"

Not Potter, certainly; he was far gone into his own orgasm. His knees were wobbly as shite; Malfoy did his personal best to keep him upright as he came, spattered cum dripping thick through Malfoy's slick fingers and plopping onto the floor.

Potter shuddered repeatedly throughout, jerking and sucking air, coming dry at the end but still throbbing in Malfoy's relentless grip—just as Malfoy had done a few seconds before him. Then he sagged downwards, suddenly and without warning, red-faced and heaving, and Malfoy collapsed forward heavily onto Potter's spine, nearly tipping them both over. They'd have fallen sideways if Malfoy hadn't summoned the few brain cells he had not occupied with being totally blown into the next universe and rallied them into chivvying his own feet into shifting farther apart, so he could brace them solidly outside of Potter's smaller ones.

Potter's heart thundered under Malfoy's ear and he closed his eyes and listened for a moment to the rush of blood through their separate veins. It went on and on, like a turbulent river, flowing off to some distant, warm ocean.

A moment later—not long enough, but they hadn't much time, had they?—Malfoy was upright again and tugging Potter upwards, too, steadying him when he swayed. He grabbed at his wand from where he'd laid it and waved it in the air, cleaning them both up, and then a second flick and swish got Potter decent again.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," Potter was still gasping. "Gods, Malfoy! You really gave it to me!"

"Good, yeah?" Malfoy smiled with an air of great self-satisfaction. "Teach you to be late, Potter. We could've gone again—_if _you'd been on time."

"Git," Potter muttered and stuck his head on Malfoy's shoulder for a moment, leaning there, whilst Malfoy brought up his arms to hold the smaller man securely and smoothed his back his ruffled hair.

Malfoy's hair was already perfect, as usual, and he'd thrown in a Scourgify just before, so they were clean-smelling and not totally rank with the tell-tale scent of cum. Still, Potter was pink yet as a flying pig, and Malfoy admitted to a bit of knee-wobbling and breathlessness of his own, so they rested for a moment longer, till Potter lethargically pulled away.

"Er, yeah, so," he said, in his usual tongue-tied manner. "Have to go—late again, sorry."

"Story of your life, Potter," Malfoy sneered, and set his robes in order, from where Potter's weight had mussed them. He flapped a casual hand at Potter. "Later, then."

Potter, meanwhile, took a few slow steps towards the door, patting himself down so as to ensure he had his wand and whatever else he'd been carrying, and Malfoy swung back to where they'd been standing and set about tidying up the area.

"Oy, Malfoy…" Potter said, and Malfoy could tell by the sound he'd turned back just as he was about to open the door and scarper off down the corridor. "I'll see you later, right?"

"Of course you'll see me later, Potter," Malfoy replied, distracted. "You _always_ see me later. I just said that."

"Yes, but…" Potter's voice had come close again and there were fingers at Malfoy's neck, yanking on his high collar. Then a mouth, open, wet and hot, and Potter's lips, mumbling. "You say that," he added shyly, as if he weren't quite convinced.

For a silent blink, his lips moved across the rapidly heating skin of Malfoy's throat and nape, till Malfoy shuddered and shrugged him off.

"I _will_ see you later, yeah?" Potter asked again—or rather, whinged—and Malfoy huffed impatiently and stuck a cobra-quick hand back behind him to grasp at Potter's impossible hair. He ducked and swayed and turned, spinning Potter with him, till he had brought both their mouths together properly, lining them up with precision by cocking his own jaw to the side, and then he snogged Potter to within a red cunt hair of his incredibly lucky life.

The needy git met every swipe and lunge as if this were to be the last snog of their lifetimes. It carried on just that way for fucking eons, but for once in his life Malfoy paid no heed to clocks, ticking. There were no interfering timepieces to be glimpsed in the place where his head currently was, in any event. There was nothing there but _Potter_.

"Ah!" Potter was breathless again, and just as flushed as before, when Malfoy was finally done with tongue-fucking his mouth. "Um…er?"

"We, Potter, _will _see each other later, I promise," Malfoy stated unequivocally, his grey eyes intent and serious. "Now be off with you. You're late and I'm busy."

"Yeah," Potter grinned and it was really something to stare at and drink in, and if Malfoy had more time available, he would've done just that. Instead, he smacked Potter's arse familiarly with the flat of his hand and sent him off, still smiling.

"Fuck," Malfoy said to the empty room, after Potter slammed the door behind him, ruefully glancing down the front of his lean body.

"Bugger all!" he swore, with a tad more emphasis, and scowled at the world for all he was worth.

He was fucking _hard. _

Again_._

Finite

_AN: This was deliberately written in such a way as to be set in any time and any place in the Potterverse. I tried not included any cues or clues as to setting or time period so that you, the reader, could have the pleasure of plopping this PWP anywhere you pleased. Tell me, did I succeed? _

_Tigersilver_


End file.
